#ignore the sewing kit i was fixing his tail

[starmagnets]

like to slap his bald head reblog to slap his bald head

[imagineredwood]

Summary: Bishop needs to wash your stuffie and you’re giving him a hard time about it, with the stuffie ending up as a casualty in the ensuing dispute.

No sexual content

Pairing: Bishop Losa x reader 

Warnings: Daddy kink. You’re a brat being bratty. Stuffie injuries, Tears and attitude lol  Everyone is an 18+ consenting adult.

Word count: 828

***Brought to you by: my panic in thinking that I had accidentally ripped off Sherbert’s tail only to find it was a cotton ball.***

“Give it back!”

Bishop sighed as you whined, trying to wrestle your stuffie from his hands.

“Baby, for the last time, it needs to be washed. I was supposed to wash it three days ago and you told me to let you keep it the rest of the weekend. I let you keep it for the weekend, but I have to wash it. Now let me have it.”

You said nothing but grumbled, fingers clutching the stuffie.

“It’s mine, Bish. I’m an adult. I can have a dirty stuffie if I want to.”

He looked at you, his eyes stern, but you did not budge.

“No, you’re not an adult, because if you were, you would be responsible enough to clean it the way you’re supposed to. So, since you can’t and you want to be acting like a child, I have to treat you like one.”

Bishop was not surprised by you pulling the I’m an adult card. You pulled that many times, especially when he was doing his job and making sure you followed rules. You had no issue with curling up in his lap, blanket wrapped up around you like a burrito and having him read you a story. You had no issue with him picking out your meals. You had no issue with him giving rewards. You were always a good girl when it came to that, but when it came to rules and punishments, suddenly you were grown and didn’t have to listen. You had ignored him about washing your stuffie in the morning, it was now night time and he told you that you’d have to pick another one to sleep with, as he wouldn’t allow you to sleep with one that needed washing. That was how all of this had started.

Now you both stood there next to the bed, Bishop holding the leg of the stuffie while you held the arm. He pulled toward him and you pulled toward you, neither of you ready to accept defeat.

“Baby…”

Bishop’s voice was stern now, a warning in his tone.

“Let. It. Go.”

You let out a small noise akin to a growl and yanked at the plush item. Bishop held fast though and next thing you knew, you stumbled nearly falling over, the arm of your stuffie in your hand completely separated from the rest of the body. You looked down at your hand holding the severed arm while Bishop looked at the rest of it, a deafening silence in the room. You could have heard a pin drop as your eyes slowly drifted up to meet each other’s. While Bishop’s were wide and laden with guilt, yours were quickly starting to fill to the brim with tears. He cursed and moved to you quickly, his voice hushed.

“It’s ok baby, it’s ok. I’m sorry. I’ll fix them, don’t worry.”

He tugged you with him to the living room, your socked feet padding on the floor and your sniffles the only sounds in the house. He sat you down on the couch and quickly made his way to the linen closet, grabbing the sewing kit.

He had sewn plenty of patches onto his kutte over the years, but he had yet to reattach the arm of a stuffie. There was a first time for everything though and he brought the kit over to the couch, sitting beside you and opening it.

“What color thread do you want? You can pick whatever.”

You knew that him letting you have a choice was simply damage control and you crossed your arms over your chest, eyes still red despite your now visibly tough exterior.

“Blue.”

He grabbed the brightly colored blue thread and quickly laced it through the needle, holding his hand out for the severed arm. You simply stared at him for seconds on end, not moving.

“Please, babygirl. I’m trying to fix it. Let Daddy fix it.”

You hesitated still for a moment more before uncrossing your arms and handing him the plush arm with a tattered end. He used his finger to stuff back any material hanging out and then got back to reattaching the arm, finger moving swiftly as he sewed, your eyes peering over his shoulder as he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“We have to wash it tomorrow, alright?”

You nodded as Bishop questioned you, cuddling the stuffie deep into your chest. He nodded and then gave a sigh, having a feeling that you may still give him problems no matter how much you were agreeing now. That could wait until tomorrow though, so he climbed into bed next to you and tugged you into his side. You rested your head on his shoulder and he leaned down to press a soft kiss into your hair.

“Sorry about their arm.”

You smiled gently, sleep already starting to creep up on you, and you snuggled into him just a little further.

“You can make it up to us with cupcakes for breakfast.”

SDOD taglist @justahopelessssromantic​ @dazzledamazon​ @lightinthedarkuniverse @emoengelfurleben​ @scribbuluswrites​ @woahitslucyylu​ @glimmerglittergirl​ @lunapiper @teamcardenas​ @robbosugdens​ @that-chick212​ @browngirldominion​ @dreamsxoxous​ @docsangel​ @rosabellablood​ @spiced-reads​ @claytoncardenasbabymama​ @weirdosandhopelessromantics​

[vannahfanfics]

Wounds

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Characters: Mirajane Strauss, Laxus Dreyar

Hi, everyone! Hoping to sneak in an event or two for @ftguildevents​' Slayers' Week! This story is for the Day 1 Prompt "Scars." Enjoy! 

As rain plummeted from the cloud-choked night sky by the buckets, Laxus Dreyar hobbled up to the Fairy Tail guild. His clothes were torn to shreds, and blood leaked from dozens of gashes littering his body. They ranged in size from cat scratches to massive, gaping wounds deep to the fat. The blood dripped down his dark clothes to drop into the water puddled ankle-deep in the streets before disappearing into wispy pink clouds. Water streamed down his face in rivulets from his drenched blonde hair that slicked to his head, which hung low, chin nearly touching his chest as he shambled wearily up to the building. Laxus' boots clunked against the damp wood of the guild steps as he slowly climbed them one laborious movement at a time. 

The windows were dark save for the reflection of the street lamps on the marbled glass panes. That was to be expected, considering it was nearing midnight, and most of the guild members had retired to their beds. The door released a gravelly groan of protest when Laxus pushed it open. The howling wind sprayed raindrops over the welcome mat and wood flooring; Laxus' blood discolored them as well when he staggered over the threshold. 

"Fuck," he cursed softly under his breath as a particularly deep wound in his left thigh blazed with fiery pain. He just barely stumbled to the closest table, and collapsed with an agonized groan against the cold wood. He lay there with his cheek pressed against the grainy surface, one eye screwed up in pain. Get up, Laxus. This is nothing! he insisted. His body ached too much to comply, so he continued to slump there, feeling the hot, sticky blood dribble down his calf. 

Suddenly, the dismal gloom fled with the oncoming of a soft yellow light. Laxus lolled his head to see Mirajane holding up an oil lamp and hurrying over from the bar. A smear of blood marred the tabletop as he lifted his head to blink blearily at the white-haired woman. Tutting under her breath, she set the oil lamp down, casting them both in its warm creamy glow, and drank in his disheveled appearance. 

"Oh, Laxus…"

"It's nothing," he gruffed. His body contradicted him; as he moved to straighten up, the gash under his seventh rib sent his intercostals spasming, making him cry out and resume hunching over the table. Mirajane's dainty hands slid onto his broad shoulder as she leaned over him. "I'm… fine…" he lied weakly. Mirajane pursed her lips. 

"You are most certainly not fine! You're bleeding everywhere!" she whined loudly, and he smirked despite himself. Spirited as ever… "Stay right here. I'm going to get the first-aid kit," she instructed, already walking back towards her counter. Laxus did as bid; there was nothing for it. If he attempted to leave, Mirajane would just drag him back- maybe even in one of her sadistic devil forms. He shuddered just imagining it. No, he definitely preferred to continue bleeding on the furniture, thank you very much. 

Mirajane's clacking heels announced her return. She eased into the space beside him, blank-faced as she flipped open the plastic case that contained an assortment of bandages, cotton balls, and packets of ointment and antiseptic. She also had brought a needle and roll of twine, and damp rags. Laxus watched her coat one of the cloths with hydrogen peroxide. Her movements were much too practiced. 

"Let me see your leg," she ordered. Laxus obeyed, but hissed in pain as he shifted to present his left leg to her. She stretched it out over her lap and used a pair of scissors to snip the blood-soaked fabric of his pants away from the gaping cut in the meat of his thigh. "This is going to hurt," she warned before pressing the rag down hard into the wound. Laxus jolted and yelled a series of unflattering expletives. The blue fabric of the cloth flooded purple as his blood soaked deep into the fibers; as Mirajane staunched the wound, however, the flow gradually ceased. She tossed the blood-soaked towel aside to press another in its place. Much less blood stained the fabric this time. "You're lucky it missed the artery, or you'd be dead." 

"Lucky me." 

Mirajane's eyes were chips of ice as she glared out of the corners of her eyes at him. He squirmed uncomfortably in the face of her venom. She's angry… He winced as she pushed harder on the rag, and he wasn't sure if it was because she needed to apply pressure or if it was revenge for his apathy. Her eyes fixated on the deep wound hidden beneath her hands, which were smeared with blood too. Seeing her bottom lip quiver, he exhaled deeply through his nose. 

She finally pulled the damp rag away. The wound was clean, showing the lacerated muscle tissue. She stoically took the needle and nylon thread, as well as a syringe of anesthesia. Laxus winced when she plunged the needle into his thigh, feeling the stinging lidocaine and epinephrine pulse through the meat. She poked at his leg a few times and, when he didn't react, regarded it to be numb. She began sewing up the wound, winding the thread through the gap to pull the muscle fibers and skin together. When she was tying off the knot, he decided perhaps he should say something, as the silence was driving him mad.

"Mira, I-"

"Don't do that!" she snapped, throwing the twine and needle aside then grabbing the bandages. She unwound them and yanked up Laxus’ leg with no care at all, making him grunt. Her eyes flickered to him, and then her body relaxed as she forced the tension out of it. "You don't get to do that," she murmured and began gently winding the bandages around his thigh. It was awkward, as she had to dip in below the fabric of his pants. He watched her with a sour taste blooming on his tongue, because tears were beginning to glimmer on her white lashes. "You don't get to just waltz in here all bloody and beat up for me to fix you. One day, I might not be able to, and what then? What then, Laxus?" His lips drew into a thin line. One of the tears dropped from her chin to drop down into the wound. The salt stung, but her words stung more. 

She sighed deeply and tied off the bandage, then tiredly gestured to his chest. "Take off your shirt…" Laxus complied, grimacing as he reached over his back to tug the garment up. It caught on his biceps, smudging it with more blood; the friction made his wounds scream. The gash in his ribs was particularly vocal, making him lock up and hold the shirt above his head. Mirajane tutted and reached up to gently ease it the rest of the way. It dropped to the floor, and her hands dropped to his pectorals. Her fingers skated over the many abrasions and small cuts decorating his chiseled muscles. 

"Blade magic," he explained as she counted the wounds, one by one. "Some asshole from a Dark Guild-" 

"I'm well aware. I read the request," Mirajane quipped tartly. She retrieved a cotton ball and doused it in antiseptic, then began dabbing it over the various wounds. "It was asinine for you to go alone. Why didn't you take the others?" Laxus wrinkled his nose at her blatant chiding and leaned back on his hands. 

"I didn't think it was necessary."

"Mhmm, and look where that foolishness has landed you," came her haughty retort. Laxus flinched as she pressed on one of the deeper nicks unnecessarily hard. "You've come a long way, Laxus, but you're still pigheadedly reckless," she breathed forlornly. Her hands faltered to drop into her lap, and she stared at her blood-smudged palms with fresh tears brimming in her eyes.

"Mira," he sighed again, and she didn't interrupt him this time. He shifted uncomfortably as guilt began to prickle his heart with sharp little needles. Begrudged as he was to admit, it was unwise of him to challenge such a villain alone. Mirajane usually was the one to patch him up after his… misadventures, so she had seen him in such a sorry state time and time again. She had never scolded him so fiercely before, nor had she been so openly melancholy. Grimacing, he reached up to sweep a swathe of her snow-white hair behind her ear. "... Forgive me. I've hurt you."

She nodded, her throat constricting as she swallowed down a sob. She pressed her cheek into his large, rough-skinned hand, and the feeling of her soft skin rubbing the hard callouses sent shockwaves pulsing through his nerves. Tears dripped from her eyes, and he swept the ones running down her right cheek away with his thumb. Mirajane hardly ever cried, and the fact that this episode was his fault sent cold guilt flushing through his nerves. 

"You're damn right," she exhaled shakily. The angry flush in her cheeks and her wobbling bottom lip betrayed her tough façade. Her hand rose to enclose around the one cupping her face, and Laxus was surprised to feel her fingers quivering. She fluttered her eyelashes a few times to dislodge the clinging dewdrops of salty water before looking at him intently. "Laxus, I know we've been ignoring this… thing between us, but I can't any longer. Not when you keep doing this to yourself," she sniffed in agony. His gaze followed her other hand as it ghosted not over his current wounds, but the scars that joined them on the landscape of his body. "Not when we're like this…" 

Laxus wasn't fool enough to be ignorant of what she spoke of. An understood attraction had existed between them for some time now- ironically borne of nights like this, when the dragon-slayer had stumbled in bloody and beaten, and Mirajane played the doting yet stern nurse. The guild walls had borne witness to many a deep conversation in the early hours of the morning. The two of them were privy to secrets and fears and doubts no one else in the world knew. Laxus had always been emotionally constipated and found difficulty in expressing his innermost feelings. Sometimes, he wasn't even sure what he was feeling, and usually, that made him angry. Still, Laxus knew enough to know that he loved Mirajane. 

Yes. Laxus loved Mirajane. He loved how beautiful she was, inside and out; her radiant smile and gorgeous winter-snow hair and bright eyes were but a window to the beautiful soul within. He loved how she could flip a switch and become feisty and powerful and domineering. He loved her motherly tendencies and fierce loyalty to the guild. Mirajane was, through and through, a fantastic person. 

So he hated himself because of that. Mirajane loved him enough to wait in the guild until the wee hours of the night when he went on missions to see when he would come straggling in. She loved him enough to tend to his wounds, wind him head-to-toe in bandages, and only say a few chiding words. She loved him enough to hold her tongue until the moment she burst. 

How could Laxus not see that he was breaking her heart because of that love?

She woefully buried her face in her hands. "I can't live with loving you while I'm wondering if this is the last time I'll ever see you alive," she sobbed. Her slim shoulders shook as she cried petulantly. Watching her sob made every scar that marred Laxus’ body begin to burn like the first moment the wounds had been inflicted. They had hurt then, but Laxus had been remiss to consider something important. 

How could Laxus not see that every wound inflicted upon himself was yet another scar on Mirajane's already scarred heart?

Laxus exhaled and leaned forward- the best he could with his leg still propped and his rib wound still oozing blood- to wrap his arms around Mirajane. He hugged her to his chest, burying his face into her scalp and running his fingers through her rivers of snow-white hair. She pressed her nose into his sternum with a low, mournful whine and wrapped her arms around the circumference of his torso, her hands splaying over his deltoids as she pressed every inch of herself possible against him. 

"I'm sorry, Mira. I'm so sorry." She sniffed miserably and turned so that her cheek pressed against his chest. She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her palm, but neglected to respond. Frowning, he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of her head. "I'll do better. I promise."

"You'd better," she huffed while defiantly puffing out her cheeks, "or next time, you'll be nursing the wounds I give you." Laxus dryly laughed and buried his face further into her hair, inhaling her vanilla coffee scent. 

"Yeah," he smirked. "Sure thing." 

With a deep breath, she pulled away from him, shaking out her long hair before drawing it behind her shoulders. 

"All right. Let's take care of this last cut," Mirajane smiled warmly and set to staunching the wound. She had to lean close to get the proper leverage, her head hovering just underneath his. Laxus stared at her a moment, then slipped a hand underneath her chin to slowly tilt her head back. Her mouth parted into a ring shape, about to ask what he was doing, but he swallowed her words by sealing their lips together. She sighed slightly into the kiss, pressing against him and moving her mouth in tandem with his. He rubbed his free hand up and down her forearm. Goosebumps rose in his wake as his touch made her hair stand on end. When he pulled away, still pinching the end of her chin between his thumb and forefinger, her eyelashes fluttered several times. A pink haze rose to her cheeks. 

"Don't think that gets you off the hook," she huffed and looked down at the wound. She pressed hard against it again, for the surprise kiss had relaxed her muscles. "I'm still mad at you."

"But you still love me?" He asked smugly and propped his elbow on the table. She huffed and applied more pressure, making him growl. She then smiled tenderly, and her gaze flickered to his face. 

"Of course I do… even if you're the most reckless idiot in the world." 

"Hey," he complained indignantly, "I can think of a handful of people more worthy of that title."

"You'll have to prove it to me," she shrugged cockily and smirked back down at the cut. Laxus snorted, but leaned in to press another chaste kiss to her lips. 

"Fine, fine…" He twinged when she pushed on the wound again. Obviously, she desired a more convincing answer. "I promise! Gah! Just stop hurtin' me, damn woman." She giggled mischievously and stuck out her tongue. 

"Can't help it. I am a sadist, you know." He rolled his eyes and relaxed against the table as she prepared to stitch the wound shut. Smiling, he watched her work through one cracked eye. 

Unlike all times before, Mirajane had a serene smile on her face as she patched him up. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork​ @searchfortheonepiece​

[acefrogmonarch]

HC pt. 2

Some of these might have been on the other HC but if it is, don't worry there's is a lot of new ones.

Take this as canon to my story. Season 3 in MLB. It didn't happen but I'll acknowledge some things and change a lot. Like a lot.

Them as vines!

The only time Tim has used bruces money was to buy a hoverboard to go around the house saying whatever they had for lunch or dinner. In the simplest form of that meal.

"We are having Chestnut bisque for dinner." Tim is the first one to know and he gets to his hoverboard and gets a ladle. "We got Soup!" His hand has a motion of scoping up some soup as he rides.

Damian recording as Todd drives, singing, and blasting white girl music.

Dick was going to surprise Damian by taking him out of school for the day, his phone was already in his hand because he didn’t tell him before. He spotted Damian, just in time to see him throw Jon against the lockers.

Tim has a set of keywords that activate the law and order sound. Any speaker around him is put up in the highest setting and blast it through the air.

Ace doesn’t let Tim touch anything Damian has. For one week Tim hasn’t touched the bat computer. He’ll never forgive Ace.

Ace accidentally biting bruce’s dick. It was the first dinner with Marinette and they all wanted to make a good impression. They were all eating dinner and Bruce, mid-bite just makes a noise.

Marinette looks over and he’s looking at Damian, who was also mid-bite. "Dog.” It’s all he says, its chaos after that.

The boys scramble to look under the table. After they do, they can’t stop laughing and Marinette doesn’t move from her spot.

Okay, I want to clear this up for my self, Marinette found out that Damian was robin on accident.

Marinette and Damian didn't interact at all but he has been seen outside of school waiting for somebody. Lila had this 'grand idea' to set them up together. Alya, the 'master' setup. Dragged a delirious Marinette to Chloe's hotel.

"Come on Mari, it's a sleepover!" Marinette couldn't handle this. Just before she had texted Adrien that she was going to Chloe's place for a "sleepover". But Mari didn't believe it. It was 2300 and her 'bedtime' they knew not to bother her. She already took her medicine and it was kicking in.

Alya opened the door and shoved Marinette in, stumbling back, she fell on her butt. Looking around she saw the bathroom light on, but immediately noticed how small it was to Chloe's usual room.

Stumbling to look at her she couldn't help but drag to the bathroom. Opening the sewing kit in there and sticking a needle in her inner thigh. She woke up and carried it around.

"What did you do this time Lila." Groaning as she got up, she limped out to the foyer in time to hear someone open the window.

Turning around She found Robin, mask in hand to be Damian. Damian, on the other hand, didn't understand how this could happen. He was supposed to be alone in his hotel room. Why was Marinette here? It doesn't matter gotta 'fix' this.

At first, Damian attacked her to keep her silent but once she attacked back, they were at a stalemate.

They kept up with each other for hours.

Marinette slipped into the night, leaving him as people knocked on his door. For months, they didn't speak, nor did they meet up as their alter-egos.

Mari actively went out of her way to ignore him. She was furious at him and Damian couldn't care less about her feelings, only mad that he couldn't threaten her to keep his identity secret.

It wasn't until Nightwing talked to Mari. It wasn't until Chat Noir went to fetch him for a bad fight with an Akuma. It wasn't until Ladybug had revealed to be Marinette.

"you know, with someone having a superpower of 'Luck'. You sure make a mess of yourself."

"Whatever. You know my secret and I know yours. Do what you will with it."

They get closer once everything was resolved. Damian got better at handling people, Mari went tougher on people. Slowly falling in love, over the years.

But that's a story for another time.

Before reveal maybe year 2 to 3 italics are in English or another language if it isn’t in English, I’ll clarify

How Chat Noir and Selena first met. “Did you steal my look?” Chat grabs his tail looking her over and he dramatically throws his tail in disgust. “No kitty cat, you stole mine.”

Selena doesn’t realize that she’s been on Marinette’s roof for months. But she does notice how the same ravenette helps kids and kittens in need and sneak some snacks if they look often enough. She’s okay in her book.

The first time Marinette and Selena meet, she was on her balcony caring for her plants. Spray bottle of water on her hand, she hears a heavy ‘thump’ on her roof. Calling out Marinette points her bottle as a gun, just in case. “Chat?”

Selena pokes her head through and sees this small little girl look at her. “This was supposed to be an easy job” Confused, Marinette tilts her head slightly. “What was easy?” Marinette barely began studying English, now she’s thankful that she’s taken the subject seriously.

Marinette was about to be mugged the second time they interact. Chat Noir had been on patrol while Catwoman was on her way to another job. “Hey, there little lady.”

That stopped Catwoman in her tracks. Looking over in the opening of the alley, low and behold, there’s Marinette. Clutching her purse for dear life. Perched on the building behind the mugger is Chat Noir.

They both jump at the same time, noticing each other as they nod in understanding. Before they reach the ground, Marinette already has the mugger on the floor, groaning in pain.

Yearly road trip!

At first, it was the fair or occasional Carnival just outside of town but once the boys grew in numbers and added their interest, they started to fight who’s turn it was yearly.

When Damian joined, it was Tim’s turn and like the year before they got ready to go to another cluster of conventions in L.A. for weeks

Jason would suggest Disney world but always go to Universal Studio for Harry Potter.

Dick goes to stupid places that are weird, like the “Worlds Biggest Yarnball!” Other than that he takes pictures of food in his mouth and post it on Instagram. One moment he’s in New York City with a rainbow Bagel. The next he’s in Canada eating Timbits.

Yes, that’s an actual food item in Canada. They look like doughnut holes but better.

Go soccer baseball! (It's kickball to you, Americans.)

Anyway back to HC.

Babs doesn’t go half the time, but she always down when it’s her turn and she goes all out. Babs mostly goes for the tech conventions but once Dick, Tim, and Steph saw drone racing in Dubai.

They always went to Dubai after that. Damian thinks the drones are mini helicopters and get fascinated by them. He’ll never admit it.

They bribe Lucas to make a custom Duck boat if Lucas gets to go one time. “Y’all are white rich kids, but take me some time.”

Babs decked it out with Video games on the bilge (lower layer of the boat) while where the girls stay on top of the fantail.

They take the road trip very seriously. And literally. They drive. Everywhere.

In the open water, Babs keeps a bucket of chum to throw in the water to attract sharks. The first time it happens dick and Jason ‘freak out’ and reenact Jaws. Tim gets annoyed very quickly, he just wants to play video games. Bruce always stayed in at the wheel.

He can't choose between the boys and girls so he stays there. Once Marinette joined she switches constantly but once she's tired, she stays with bruce to nap.

Steph would go to places outside of the US for Instagram worthy food. Like Dragons Beard in China and Jiggly Cheesecake in Japan.

Cass likes to visit quiet places. Like the renovated Opera house turned Library. No one argues as much on her trip, and they enjoy the peace and scenery. Templo Expiatorio del Santisimo Sacramento, Mexico has been on her list but she always spots something else.

Marinette wants to go to Milan, Italy for Fashion week but she doesn’t plan the trip, the rest of the batfam does. They get her to spill where she would go if she ever got the chance.

They also don't tell her until they show up at the Bakery doorsteps. Honking in a custom Duck Boat, there's Dick Grayson, hanging out of the side yelling “Get in loser we’re going shopping.”

"THE BoWlS MARI. THE BOWLS!!"

"I won't even attempt to try this much effort with anyone else, just marry me instead, Mari. Don't let me indulge to stand another second of insufferable humans." This is how Damian proposes.

Damian having a mild innocence.

Like not knowing what tampons or pads are used for, and asking Bruce about it. Bruce panics for a solid minute before answering. "I'll tell you later." He doesn't.

Jason and dick don't think it's true so they tease him. Dick tried to be subtle by saying Steph was on 'her time of the month.' Jason bulldozed through saying she was stocking up on tampons.

"What are tampons used for." They tell him it's to cover women's vagina. He'll never admit to them that he thought they were to cover battle wounds.

Damian is very weirded when he finds out that Dick or his father having sex with a stranger.

 "You're not supposed to do that." Is his immediate thought.

"Dick, stop having sex with her if you don't plan on marrying her!"

Damian promptly leaves the room. "Where are you going little D?”

Stomping away, "To plan a wedding." He slams the door.

The first time Marinette tries to cuddle Damian, he freaks out.

"Woah, Angel, wait till marriage." Marinette just looks at him confused.

"What do you mean???? This is perfectly fine before marriage."

"Not in my culture!"

Jason and Dick weren't afraid of Marinette before. But ever since 'the Kitchen™" incident' they haven't walked in when she visits.

The Kitchen™ incident as followed.

Sleep-deprived Mari! & Tim! Mari still had ingredients out, she was making coffee cake for them since Tim asked for some "fre sh a voca do" for their desert.

M: Could you put the Ingredients away?

T: What dog? When did we get the dogs in here?

M: What?

T: Did you not say dog?

M: I thought you said you wanted to eat a dick.

T: What?! Mari I don't eat ass.

They were surrounding the island, both were crouched

M: You're not getting my milk.

Tim was moving his arms around and flipped over the island and grabbed the milk, he ran out with Mari following him.

M: No my MALK!!

Damian walked in much later to see where Mari was.

T: Do you know the muffin man?

D: The Muffin Man?

T: The Muffin man

Mari left to find Dami and heard that as she was coming in.

M: Shes married the muffin man.

Damian promptly forgot why he wanted to find her in the first place and leaves. Just silently going "wtf"

They would laugh so much they laid down on the floor, once the timer beeped, Marinette stumbled her way to the oven, accidentally stepping on Tim as well.

Why do they do that?! Both dick and Jason didn't wanna witness any more of this weirdness.

Every time, anybody in the bat fam is hurt, there is a speaker nearby with the CoD 1 zombie 'Game over' soundtrack. Ready to play. It's why common crooks stop hurting them because they can't escape the sound.

Tim did it on accident because he was sleep-deprived but he just kept the algorithm.

His usual response when attacks don't hurt him is. "Mothertrucker dude, that hurt like a buttcheek on a stick"

Jason and Tim mess with Penguin, once penguin caught on that they were only attacking at dusk. He started calling them Dusk Boys™.

"God damn dusk boys. Get off my lawn!"

Mariette witnesses it and coined the term, "Dusking it up." whenever someone was a little shit.

Damian got a kazoo one day, someone 'gave' it to him as they ran away. "It's a social experiment!" More like throwing it in his face. Once he got home he played it. Marinette was visiting for a while.

He showed her first and Tim was with her in the living room, eating cake. After he played it, they both went batshit crazy. Once they aren't sleep deprived, Damian 'serenades' Mari with the kazoo. It's during the next patrol and its right after they beat up another criminal.

She was very surprised and so was everybody else. 1 they are usually so profession about this and not announcing their presence or joking around. It's why she got so much done with him. 

2 She kind of enjoyed it???

Marinette finds herself in Dick.

Since everyone went to the pair to vent or find advice. Marinette sees them struggling and slows down with them. Taking things from scratch, be it subjects they struggle with or talking about people.

Dick can relate because not everyone is willing to talk to others besides Dick. They share tips on how to help. Mari gets ideas on how to talk to others about self-love and dick gets advice that he is doing all he can and more. 

Jason and Mari patrol together and spar together too often. Like when they both don’t want to hold back. Afterward, they get ice cream.

Mari never takes credit because she doesn't want to seem like a brat. But she also doesn't want to turn people down because she loves to help.

So she does her work, invites them in and hangs out with them and doesn't shut them out. She sets a group chat for people struggling in math and science. She also has a weekly get together for emotional support, "It doesn't matter what it is, just say it!" She invites Chloe one time and they have deep conversations about family issues and attitude issues.

Monthly shows.

Mari, Adrien, and Dick sing (ABBA) and dress up, they just call it a show. But once Mari does parkour and acrobatic moves they go on the tightrope.

She doesn't push dick and always uses the net, once dick explains why he didn't want to go in the first place. They take it slow. Explaining moves on the ground and different verbal signals to call out for a new movie or stop.

"I played you like the cheap Kazoo you are." Damian when he gets played by Mari in a game. It was Risk.

They are all instruments. Every single one of them. But their price is on a very wide range. It all depends on their mood.

Some are cooking supplies. "What a tool." No one in the mlb crew likes it.

[ailithnight]

Heyo! Another fic for ya’ll. This one was inspired by two other posts. This by @all-da-fandoms and this one from @pirate-patton. Been working on this for a while now. Felt like Virgil’s Birthday would be a good day to drop this on you.

Title: Gifts from the Dark Side Words: 2945 CW: Angst. Lots of angst. Mostly angst. Kind of teeters on the edge of a panic attack but never actually becomes one. Some self-deprecation. Tell me if I need to add anything.

Tags: @moose-squirrel05, @didsomeonesayprince, @readeatfightlove13

They appeared every year without fail, for as long as the three sides could remember. Patton, Roman, and even Logan had long since stopped trying to stay awake to see where they came from. It had taken a lot of the mind to shrug it off as one of the idiosyncrasies of the mindscape. Of course, just as Thomas had, the sides had long since stopped believing in Santa Claus. Yet every year, without fail, 3 mysterious presents would appear under the tree without so much as a tag to say who its for or who its from. It was obvious to tell based on the wrapping whose was whose. Patton’s was always wrapped in light blue paper with the same print of puppies and kittens in Santa hats. Logan’s was sleek, blue and black in a plaid pattern, methodically wrapped. Roman’s always came wrapped in a shimmering gold paper that could easily be mistaken for polished metal, each time with a bright red ribbon tied around it in a perfect bow. Every year, the gifts inside were different, but no less thought out than all the years prior.

In years past, Patton had received a coloring kit, a light blue apron with white embroidery saying ‘My Cooking is Eggcellent,’ a photo album with a picture a day from that year, and even the Heart’s infamous cat onesie had been gifted by “Santa” last year. Logan’s onesie had also come from the mysterious gifts that year and years before had provided him with an astronomically correct poster of the constellations of both the northern and southern hemispheres, plenty of books of poetry and other literary works, and one year a scale model of a space shuttle in a bottle. The play on words there was not lost on the logical side. Roman had not been gifted a onesie last year, a fact that was a slightly sore subject to the creative one. But he had received a wonderful painting of a fantasy kingdom where a princely looking figure stood atop his castle, bravely facing a massive dragon. Before, he had been gifted the collective works of William Shakespeare and one year a massive, three-foot pen designed to look like a sword. Logan had taken pleasure in teaching the Prince of the old saying “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

The presents appeared every year without fail. In turn, there would always be cookies and milk left out and space left under the tree for the anticipated gifts. Those three would be left for last and after each recipient opened his, and in some cases regained enough composure from giddy glee, they would speak aloud, thanking Santa for the generous and thoughtful gifts. For more than 20 years, this was tradition. But around year 27, something changed.

Just a little longer. I just have to stay awake a little longer. Everyone should be asleep within the hour. Then I can drop them off and fall asleep. Just a little…bit…longer. Virgil stared dully at the computer screen, not even seeing the Tumblr posts he was scrolling past. He was dead tired after the last week and a half. First, Roman had approached him saying he was going to be in a video and Virgil had dared to have hope. It was instantly dashed when he had been showed the script. The script that portrayed him as a villain Thomas had to defeat. And of course, who better to help than Roman, Creativity, The Prince. And sure, the script was all like things he had said and done before, but he’d never been this heavy handed with it. Still, Virgil had played his role, the same role he had been playing for years now, and tried not to let the knowledge that there would now be 2 million more people in the world knowing of and hating him hurt. He didn’t really succeed with that. But that’s okay. That’s his job. Anxiety.

Between filming and editing and posting the video on the 19th and monitoring its reception and trying not to let all the “thank you for helping me with my anxiety” and “anxiety sucks, I’m sorry you have to suffer it too” leave stinging gashes in his heart, Virgil had hardly found the chance to finish his projects in time. Logan’s had been easy. The book all about Native American constellations had arrived weeks ago. Even Patton’s stuffed kitten, matching his onesie, had been completed a week ago. But Roman’s had taken a lot of work. The Prince had sulked after not getting a onesie last year, but Virgil just couldn’t seem to find the right one. Finally, he had settled for painting him something and he would learn to sew and make Roman the perfect onesie this year. The pjs closely resembled Roman’s normal garb, from the shirt and sash to the boot slippers and even a stuffed crown sewn onto the hood. Virgil was immensely proud of that creation, despite having only finished it a few short hours ago. Now it was carefully wrapped in the traditional gold wrapping, sitting by his door with the other two gifts, and waiting for the moment the others would go to bed so Virgil could sneak them downstairs.

While waiting and nearly drugged by exhaustion, Virgil’s mind wandered over the Christmas’s past. He could remember sneaking down every year, starting since before any of them could read or write, hence the lack of name tags. Despite never inviting him to join in the festivities, Patton always hung a stocking for him and filled it with little treats. Someone, Roman probably, would always top it off with those chocolate coal nuggets and one year, when the Prince had discovered his summoning prowess, actually coal nuggets. Patton had told him off for that when he discovered the black powder on the white fur, so it hadn’t been real again. Still, it was a harsh reminder each year that even though Patton was too kind to give him nothing, Virgil was still naughty and naught people got coal for Christmas. But Virgil would always ignore the stockings. He’d come down later to claim it before the treats were simply stolen from him. Instead, Virgil would set up the presents first, taking extra care to arrange them in just the right way. Then he would turn to the cookies and milk.

As much as he may want to just eat them all, seeing as they were the only Christmas cookies he got, Virgil would restrain himself. He drank half the milk and ate two and a half of the five cookies. While he reveled in the sugary sweet, he’d let himself pretend, for just a moment, that they weren’t for an imaginary Santa. He let himself imagine that the treat had been left as a thank you specifically for him. For three minutes every year, early in the morning on Christmas Day, Virgil let himself believe that the other’s appreciated his efforts, that they cared about him, maybe even loved him. But inevitable, someone would shift in their sleep upstairs and the illusion would be broken. This wasn’t for him. This was for Santa. And even if Santa was fake, even if for all intents and purposes Virgil was Santa, it just wasn’t the same. At the end of the day, his companions still cared more for a fairy tail than their real, living counter-part. The cookies would become bitter on Virgil’s tongue, the milk would spoil in his stomach. With heavy heart and light footsteps, Virgil would sneak back to his room. He’d close the door and climb in bed and try not to cry (loudly) as he fell asleep.

“But WHY?!?” Virgil jerked into consciousness at the sudden exclamation heard from the creative side. Confused, he peeled his face off of his keyboard, rubbing at the indents left on his cheek from the pressing plastic. He distantly heard a muffled conversation as bleary eyes tried to see and a tired mind worked to figure out where he was. As he looked around, his eyes landed on the colorful stack still sitting by his door. His eyes widened and horrified panic filled his veins as Virgil realized his mistake.

“I fell asleep. I fell asleep! HOW IN THE HELL COULD I FALL ASLEEP!?!” He whispered to himself. Virgil tried to breathe through his fear, not really wanting to have Thomas start the day with a panic attack. With great difficulty, he managed to put a lid on his own terror. “Okay. Okay. I can fix this. I can… fuck how do I fix this? I can’t. I screwed up. I’m a failure. Pointless, pathetic, No. Stop. Not helpful. Just. Breathe. Think.” Virgil continued to fight off his panic. After a few moments of calm breathing, an idea occurred to Virgil. A wonderful, beautiful idea. He concentrated on Thomas, sensing the hosts current placement. He was still in his bedroom, searching for something warm and festive to wear. A wry smile appeared on Virgil’s face. He scrambled out of his chair on over to the gifts. He grabbed the three boxes and sank out of his room, appearing in his new place on the stairs. He marched over to Thomas’s tree were a small group of presents sat addressed to various friends and family members. Virgil carefully cleared a space under the tree and added the gifts to the mix. He stepped back to inspect his placing, pleased by the way his custom wrapping seemed to shine out of the amalgamation of festive paper. He was about to leave when a thought struck him and he nearly facepalmed himself. “How would they know they’re here? How would Thomas know who they belong to?” He groaned. After a moment of deliberation, he darted into Thomas’s kitchen, finding the nearly empty pack of tags and a pen. He went back to the gifts, slightly upset about having to mar his wrapping with the gaudy stickers, but it was necessary now since I fucked up. He hastily scrawled names on the tags. Or, titles really, seeing as Thomas didn’t know their names yet and Virgil wasn’t looking to screw up any worse today. Once he was done, he stepped back again to appreciate his work. For half a moment, his hand reached towards the table where the cookies and milk would usually sit. Realizing his mistake, he scolded himself. “Stupid. Whatever. Now they’ll never know. They’ll never know…” Virgil quickly sank out, oblivious to the eyes that had been watching him from the top of the stairs.

Thomas had no idea what to make of the situation. Coming downstairs to find one of his sides there without him was strange in and of itself. For that side to be his Anxiety was even weirder. He had noticed the spike of anxious energy that had hit him 15 minutes ago, but it had vanished and he’d dismissed it. Then, for Anxiety to be messing with the Christmas presents was absolutely baffling. Surely, he wouldn’t be so bitter as to try and ruin the gifts he had gotten for his friends? Thomas was about to call down, questioning the dark figure when he abruptly stood. Thomas froze, watching him a little longer. Anxiety nodded to himself. He seemed to reach to grab something off the table, but stopped mid-way. “Stupid.” The bitterness there made Thomas wary and once again he almost called down. “Whatever.” Thomas was once more paused. “Now they’ll never know. They’ll never know…” The defeated tone was the last thing Thomas would have anticipated from his malicious, cocky Anxiety. He watched the side sink away and only once he was gone did Thomas come down the stairs and inspect the tree. The three new gifts were impossible to miss. He glanced at them, noting the names on the labels. Logic. Creativity. Morality. His other three sides. Gifts for his other three sides. From, Anxiety? That didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Thomas decided to summon the three.

“Creativity, Morality, Logic!” He called, the summoned sides appearing in their normal spots. Thomas didn’t miss the tear tacks on Morality’s face, the confusion on Logic’s, or the anger on Princey’s. He gestured to the three boxes. “Know anything about this?” Morality gasped.

“Our Santa gifts!” He wiped his eyes, tears drying instantly. “Why are they out here?”

“Santa gifts?” Thomas queried. Logic cleared his throat.

“I can explain, Thomas. We celebrate Christmas just as you do. Each year, on Christmas day, we have come to find a gift for each of us in that exact wrapping, sans labels, under our tree. We have all agreed they do not come from one of us, so it has been chalked up to the strangeness that comes of living in a mind. It is possible that, within the mind at least, Santa is real enough for the subconscious to generate these presents each year.”

“Oh. But, I saw Anxiety-”

“Aha!” Princey shouted, startling the other three. “I bet this has been some cruel prank on his part!” Morality frowned.

“Do you really think he would…?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. He has been sulking an awful lot since the video. He probably wanted some sense of revenge for being bested.” Morality still looked uncertain and Thomas wasn’t too sure himself. Even though nothing else made sense in his mind, this still didn’t seem right.

“I don’t know, Princey. Don’t you think you might be jump-”

“ANXIETY!” The Prince roared, the summoned side suddenly appearing on the staircase, stumbling slightly at the sudden teleportation.

“JESUS Princey! The hell is wrong with you! I could have been asleep. What would you have done if you dropped me unconscious down the stairs?” Probably laugh at you, Virgil.

“Did you put these out here?” Roman gestured to the gifts and Virgil felt his throat close up.

“Wh-” He had to clear his throat around the forming lump. “What makes you say that?”

“Thomas saw you.” Virgil looked at the host, who was just watching the situation unfold. Virgil dropped his head, shame at having been caught, fear at having his weakness preyed upon, and maybe just a tiny bit of hope that if they knew it was him all along, they might actually warm up to him.

“I- yeah. I did it.”

“I knew it! You stole them!” Virgil looked up startled and suddenly there was a sword pointed at his throat, a seething Prince on the other end. He tried not to imagine that blade piercing his neck, pretending he wouldn’t be at least a little relieved to die. “What else did you do? Did you tamper with them?” Virgil didn’t know how to respond. It took a moment for the word’s meaning to sink in. He thinks I stole them. THEY think I stole them. They haven’t realized…Virgil refused to feel wounded, despite the ever-present hollow ache in his heart spazzing painfully. No. This is good. They don’t know. They think I’m just being a dick, but how is that any different than normal? Virgil forced a sneer on his features, convincing seeing as it’s the same one he always used.

“Why don’t you open them up and find out? Unless you’re scared.” He taunted. The thought of actually being able to see their reactions to his gifts was definitely not a motivator to his statement at all. Certainly not. Nope. Not at all. (Yes.) Roman’s seething intensified. He pressed the blade closer to Virgil’s neck, making the anxious one shudder, whether in fear or anticipation, he himself knew not.

“If this is a trap, I’ll run you through.” He ground out. None of the others said a word. Virgil took this to mean their agreement to Roman’s threat and Virgil once more shuddered. Roman held his gaze as he reached down to pick up the gold gift. The sword vanished from his hands, but Virgil was well aware that he could summon it back in half a heartbeat. The ribbon was removed, then the wrapped, and finally the box opened. When nothing sprang out, Roman glanced inside. Virgil felt a tiny sliver of pride when he saw the way Roman’s eyes lit up looking in the box. He quelled it quickly, not wanting to reveal himself after all this trouble. Roman’s eyes came back to Virgil’s, squinting suspiciously.

“There, not a trap. Can I go now?”

“If it wasn’t a trap, why didn’t you say so in the first place, Kiddo?” Virgil turned to Patton, noticing the shocked silence that seemed to cover Logan and Thomas.

“Would he have believed me if I did?” Virgil caught from the corner of his eye the way Roman’s grip tightened on the gift. “Now, if we’re done wasting each other’s time, I’m going back to my room.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t stolen them in the first place.” Roman grumbled. Virgil sent him a wry smirk.

“My mistake. Next year, I’ll leave your presents alone. Maybe I’ll just incinerate the tree instead.” Before anyone could respond to that, Virgil sunk out. The second he was back in his room, he collapsed on his bed. The computer had hardly made for a very restful sleeping place. Virgil was still tired and now with the familiar Christmas day heartbreak setting in, he wanted nothing more than to hide under the covers until the sun went away. And if that meant that by the time he went back to the commons, his stocking had been emptied… well, that was just part of the consequence for screwing up. It wouldn’t happen next year.

[marsupials-of-mars]

Septic Android Pt 1

Jack groaned, rubbing his temples to alleviate the headache building behind his eyes. His skull pounded and his deep bags almost reached his cheekbones. He winced at every shout, every bang.

“JAAACK!” He hissed at the scratchy, broken voice. He turned as his blue eyes caught a pair of glassy purple ones.

“I fell and it came off again!”

He sighed, inspecting the fleshy lavender object in the zombies shiriveled, open palm. It turned out to be his other palm. The bone protruding juttingly from the wrist. He didnt know why Robbie insisted on coming to HIM with these problems.

“I’m sure Shneep has his sewing kit in his room. Why not ask him to help?” The corpse shook his head, his shedding violet hair drifting in tufts to his shoulders.

“He’s busy.”

Jack sighed with dread. What now? “What’s he busy with Rob?” Robbie shrugged, causing his shoulder to pop slightly out of place.

“Dunno, something about Jackie and Antis fight.”

Jack groaned. Another fight? He could understand their dislike for each other considering their whole hero-villain dynamic. Jackieboy man had asked him repeatedly why he let anti stay in the house and his answer was always the same. Because as a Septiceye, he has just as much right as the rest of them. Though he did seem to be much more of a nuisance than the others, though they weren’t always too easy either.

“I need to see the damage...” He got up from the couch, Robbie tagging along.

“But I thought you were going to help ME! You never help me first!” the zombie humphed loud, the gust of rotten air catching Jack off gaurd. He coughed.

“Because you break all the time. You can handle not being fixed for a while.”

Robbie seemed to grudgingly agree, if his silence was anything to go by.

“HEY MAN!” Jack could recognize the egos voices as their own, even though they were technically the same. This one was chipper with dudebro undertones.

“Sorry Chase I’m a little busy right now!” He ignored Jack and started keeping pace with him.

“You need to be in my next vid! I can’t have a paintball fight with just one person! And veiws skyrocket whenever you’re involved!”

At this point all jack cared about was checking on Shneep then getting some sleep. That rhymed...shneep sleep shneep sleep... he was jolted back awake at chases voice. “You gonna be there?!”

“Yeah... yeah course man.” Chase beamed.

“Thanks bro! Up top!” Jack stared at his hand. He feebly slapped his hand to chases and shot him a finger gun before continuing down the hall.

He suddenly felt a hand pat his shoulder and ruffle his hair. He immediately knew which this was. The only ego who didn’t greet him loudly and boisterously. He turned.

“Hey Jamie. Need anything?” Jameson Dapper nodded and signed.

*You seen Brody anywhere?*

Jack nodded. Thankfully he didn’t need help with anything physical. “Yeah, he just passed me. I think he went to his room.

*thanks. I’ve been meaning to talk to him about paintball.* He walked off, leaving Jack confused as ever. It didn’t matter. He continued down the hall, Robbie tailing him. He finally reached the bedroom and/or office of Dr Henrik Von Shneepelstein.

The doctor was leaned over Jackie’s motionless body on the bed.

“Hey Doc. Anything serious?”

“Greetings Jack! Nothing serious it seems at ze moment no. Bloody nose. Pulled wrist. Normal fistfight outcomes.”

The doctor was close to the only other responsible one in the building which jack could appreciate. “Was Anti hurts too?”

“Oh...” Shneep sneered. “Ze glitch boy... he was fine. Bruises maybe, nothing extra bad. Simply a horrible person.”

Jack nodded. Though he let Anti try to be a team player he never seemed to catch on. Jack rubbed his temples as the migraine built into his brain.

“Are you okay Jack? Are you hurt my friend?” Shneep looked worried. He smiled at the docs concern.

“Just a migraine. I’m okay.”

“You are no such thing!” Henrik laid jack on the bed next to Jackie. He gently wet a rag with cold water and folded it, placing it on jacks eyes. “Rest. Doctors orders.” Jack nodded and sighed.

He needed a break.

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